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In my position as a sexually ambiguous but very hard rock star, I am privileged enough to witness a log of pornography. So much pornography, in fact, that it's difficult for me to distinguish pornography from life. As you can imagine, this turns everyday business such as shopping and volleyball into potential legal minefields! My favourite film that I have ever seen involved a man who seemed most determined to fry his own penis. It made me think... could I make a film about frying my penis? Eventually, I became so preoccupied with this idea that I got my ladyboy wifehusband to buy a camcorder, and we set about reenacting this masterpiece. Here is our effort.

Only one of these items is bacon. | Here are the ingredients. We used Extra Virgin Olive Oil. This may seem like an extravagance, but we had received a council grant of £17,000,000 for this film, and we had no idea how to spend it. For the penis substitute, I had bought some Not Bacon, a couple of sausages, and as a last resort, a synthi-dick ejacu-flesh bumdildo that has been knocking about the house for a while. Here you see Not Bacon next to some Bacon, which is obviously is not.
Books Of Blood : Left on the floor, creates an 8"x6" area of temporarily increased height. | We immediately ran into problems. I am quite tall, but even I had trouble getting my wee chappy onto the hob. The whole thing looked strained and unsteady; all respect to the stars of the original for making it look so easy! Mokaka, my wife, knelt on all fours and gestured for me to stand on her back. She is mute, but eager. I sceptically tried this for a while, but she kept running around and getting excited when people walked past the window. She was bitten by a radioactive dog one week, then involved in a teleporter accident with another dog the week after, so she's 75% dog, 12.5% man, and 12.5% woman now. We eventually decided that I would stand on a compilation hardback copy of Clive Barker's Books of Blood. Mokaka went to the toilet at this point, as her lady part could feel herself getting giggly.
Not Bacon Cocks : Unflattering | The Not Bacon turned out to be a bit of a wash-out. When I watched the playback with little Sanjay (Mokaka's father, he is only 3 feet tall but hung like a pit pony), he agreed with me that it looked like a soggy flat tongue hanging out of my pants, and did not lend itself to the job. And as you can see, the 2D nature of Not Bacon made for very embarrassing profile shots of my cock. However, I peeled off the stringy white strip of simulated fat, thinking that I could use later, it we wanted a cum shot.
Mokaka quickly lost interest and started scratching at the patio doors. | The sausage I eventually plumped for was a premium "Mr Bristow's Choice Tomato and Herb" costing £1.99 for eight sausages from Sainsbury's. The mottled grey meat filling did make it look a little like a dead man's chappy, but after I drew a comprehensive network of bulb veins in a bluey purple felt tip, it looked the business. After a few practice swings to test stability (being careful not to get carried away), I started to fry my new cock.
One of the unlucky sausages that didn't make it onto the final reel. | I used a wooden spoon. It wasn't ideal and you may want to try something else. I had planned to use that kind of big plastic flipping thing - you know, the things you slide under burgers to toss them over. But I looked around in the cutlery drawer and it was nowhere to be seen. Come to think of it, I haven't seen it for ages. I hope I haven't lost it. I also found, quite by accident, that NOT pricking your sausage adds a quite convincing burst action, which dribbles fatty fluid hither and thither, just like in the film!
A seemly girth, yet robbed of dignity by a disappointing length. | Here is the fried sausage sticking out of my pant. I am not terribly proud of the results, but this is only my first time, and I am sure that if I keep trying (and if I can get Mokaka to be sensible) then we shall have a sizzling blockbuster on our hands. Sizzling! Oh, I kill me.

No thanks whatsoever to Martin Casterton who refused point blank to help out with
this page in any way, on the groundless premise that it was a "shit idea". Ya boo!